Melenya
by astateofgrace
Summary: When Eomer visits a small town in Rohan, he meets a young lady that interests him more than anyone ever has before. Rating may change; rated T for brief sexual connotations


Whispers of a visit from Lord Éomer, nephew of the King of Rohan, were sweeping like a scrap of cloth in a gust of wind throughout the small town of Snowbourn, some kilometres east of Edoras. Word spread even more quickly throughout the local inn that was managed by a small family. There was nothing particularly peculiar about this family; they were perhaps more wealthy than others in the town, but still had to work to keep themselves warm throughout the winter months. The Father, Meneldor, upheld the inn's money; Son, Menelvagor cared for the inn's stables with the help of a few stable boys. Mother, Lotéssë and the youngest child, Menélya, who was the only daughter of the family, having seen seventeen winters, cared for the inn's accommodation and culinary needs. Menélya also served the inn's nightly customers as they arrived for a mug of ale (or in some cases, a few too many mugs of ale) when the sun set every evening. She was a most reliable young lady, attentive to her parents needs and good at upholding the woman's duties in the family inn. Menélya was also a talented swordswoman, but that was not known by many.

At that moment, Menélya was helping customers at the bar, clad in her plain working dress and apron. Clearing a few empty mugs away from a table, Menélya overheard a group of what looked like soldiers from the King's Guard from their dress. Listening in, she heard of the Battle of Helm's Deep and the occurrences there. She heard of the wonder of Lord Aragorn's return from the dead, she heard of the Uruk-hai and of Gandalf the White, Lord Éomer and the Rohirrim's late arrival to the Battle. Menélya couldn't help but to intervene in the conversation.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but may I ask of the hearsay around the town?" she asked the men timidly. "Is it true about Lord Éomer's visit?"

"Young lady, turn yourself around." Smirked one of the soldiers to the left of her. Frowning, she did as he bade and gasped as soon as she had. Éomer, nephew of King Théoden had just entered the inn with other Riders of Rohan following. He was more than she had expected; being second in line to the throne of Rohan, he was expected to look the part...regal and dominating. But here, he looked more than that; handsome and rough, he looked relaxed as he took in his surroundings. Menélya couldn't shift her gaze, she knew that staring was not the polite thing to do, especially to royalty, but something kept her eyes upon him. Her body shivered, sending a jolt down her spine as he moved to fix his eyes on her. Menélya didn't realise that her mother was standing next to her until the elder woman had pushed her sharply with her elbow. Menélya jumped as her mother did so.

"Well, go and attend to his wishes, child! It's not every day that royalty is here in the inn!" hissed Lotéssë as she shoved her daughter forward. Menélya blushed as she approached him, looking to the floor. As she reached him, she looked up and was taken aback at the gentle look his eyes held to her. Menélya quickly regained her senses; it wouldn't do any good to be stuttering in front of such lineage.

"My Lord, can I fetch you and your men anything?" Menélya asked patiently.

"Some company to bed would do well, woman." One of the Riders from behind him sniggered. Menélya was accustomed to those sorts of comments; she was serving drunks every night as it was. She didn't react to the request, but Éomer certainly did. He swung around furiously to face the Rider.

"If you wish to talk so foully to young maidens, I shall have you mucking out the stables here for a month!" he roared, the Rider immediately cowering back in fear and retreating to the back of the crowd.

"Thank you, my Lady. We should like rooms for three nights and a good meal." Éomer turned back to her, his previous demeanour vanishing completely. She nodded politely, feeling his eyes boring into hers.

"Do you have horses that need to be attended to, my Lord?" she asked.

"Your stable boy has already taken them, thank you." He smiled gratefully.

"Of course. Please, come and sit. I will fetch you a meal." She smiled shyly and showed them to a table before retreating to the kitchens where she bit her bottom lip, letting her rapidly beating heart slow.

Éomer sank into the comfortable bed that the inn had provided for him, inhaling the smell of newly washed bedding. His mind was instantly on the young woman that had served him for a meal a few hours before. He remembered her features easily; he was sure that they were to be etched into his head forever. She had the sand coloured hair that most of the population of Rohan held, but it was her eyes that had stopped him in his tracks. She had perfect green eyes, the colour of the dark green leather that was provided for the Riders of Rohan as their dress. Éomer wondered what her hair would smell like, what it would be like to touch her..._he couldn't be thinking like that! He was a Marshal, third in line to the throne of Gondor; he couldn't afford to dabble in these grey areas..._

It had been a day since Menélya and Éomer's encounter, and they had had only brief meetings since then, the inn keeper's daughter keeping herself occupied with her chores. Lotéssë had wisely not mentioned the night before, even though she had noticed Menélya's behaviour around Lord Éomer.

Menélya stood next to the line of twine that had been strung between two trees, hanging freshly washed bed sheets over the twine to dry. Her thoughts meandered, and moved to dangerous territory when the Lord Éomer entered them. She had not ever seen such a man as him, and she couldn't help but to giggle as she wondered what those armoured clothing held underneath. Menélya jumped as she heard a deep cough from behind her. Swinging around, she blushed as she realised that the man she had just been dreaming about, and rather inappropriately at that, was standing in front of her in only a loose shirt and riding pants.

"Oh, my Lord, I apologise; I didn't realise it was you. I'll leave you in peace." She said quickly and snatched up her still half-full washing basket.

"No, please stay. I wish to talk to you." Éomer grabbed her wrist firmly but as to not cause bruising.

"Yes, my Lord." She stuttered and frowned, wondering why a man like him should wish to speak with her. She placed down the basket again.

"Thank you for your service at the inn, it is most appealing." He smiled and she relaxed.

"You are most welcome, my Lord." Menélya noticed a slight irritation at that, but smiled nevertheless.

"What do they call you?" he asked as he sat down on the yellowing grass, his companion following suit.

"Menélya."

Éomer smiled at that; her parents had chosen a perfect name. _Menélya _was 'heavens day' in the Numénorean system of King's reckoning.

"Éomer." The Lord nodded at her respectfully. Menélya stopped a giggle.

"I know, my Lord."

"Menélya," he hesitated. "Do you think we could use titles not when alone?" he asked hopefully.

"But my Lord, it is my duty...I am peasant and you are royalty, it would not be right..."

"Menélya, I like titles not." He interrupted.

"I should like to, my Lord, but my parents would not approve."

"That is not my intention. But in secret; your parents need not know."

"As you wish...Éomer." she smiled as she pronounced his name carefully.

"Menélya! Mother needs your help!" Menelvagor called from the inn door. Menélya turned to see her brother and stood quickly.

"I must go, Éomer." She nodded as he too, stood.

"Of course, Menélya. We shall talk more at another time." He smiled and she turned and ran back up to the inn.

"Why were you talking to Lord Éomer?" her brother asked as he followed her inside.

"No reason." She answered innocently, with a hint of a girlish grin on her soft face.


End file.
